


A Kind of Unconscious Harmony

by lilgreenlotl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Biting, Contest Entry, Gay Sex, HMCWTIYS, Hand Jobs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Neckz 'n' Throats, Slow Build, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tender Crowley (Good Omens), Tender Sex, Tenderness, Usedtobehmc's Write This in Your Style Challenge (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29165919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilgreenlotl/pseuds/lilgreenlotl
Summary: While cuddling on the couch in their South Downs cottage, Crowley asks Aziraphale to read out loud while he listens. Sort of.A wtiys contest entry for the lovely @usedtobehmc.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67
Collections: USEDTOBEHMC_WRITING_CONTEST





	A Kind of Unconscious Harmony

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the tags before reading! Thank you, and I hope you enjoy! :)  
> Beta read by the talented @allanei_snowflake! (Instagram)

“Are you finished yet?”

“Can you define ‘finished’?”

“Mmgm.” A groan of annoyance. “With that chapter?”

“Love, this is an essay.”

Crowley peeked through one eye and shot daggers at the profile of his partner. Wiggling in his cocoon, he stretched out his long arms above the blanket, jaw unhinging slightly as he yawned. Pushing his messy hair off his forehead, Crowley settled back into his partner’s shoulder, nuzzling his sweater. He ran his slender fingers along the pattern of the knit, miracled to be just the right amount of cozy and not at all scratchy. He quirked his lips into a lopsided smile. _Fussy as fuck._

Aziraphale placed his reading glasses on the coffee table and took a long gulp of tea, his eyes closed in satisfaction. Crowley watched as the glow from the fireplace danced off his Adam’s apple, his neck pulled taught. His hand wandered across Aziraphale’s chest as he bit the inside of his bottom lip. Aziraphale rubbed Crowley’s shoulder.

“I told you I wouldn’t mind reading in bed.”

“That was hours ago. We were at a crossroads about the optimal relaxing space for the night. You made a choice, I am perfectly secured inside this blanket burrito, and I ain’t budgin’.”

“I could carry you?” The demon’s brow knitted in offense. Aziraphale chuckled. “Never mind.”

“I don’t understand why they create books of essays. I mean sure, could be just as well written as a novel, but to fill a whole book with your own ideas on random topics?”

“Oh Crowley, these topics are hardly random. The most impactful historical essays written have been largely about social causes. They are immensely important to the development of worldwide intellectual conversations amongst humans. For example, this author...”

While he spoke animatedly, Crowley watched the way Aziraphale’s eyes were alight with a familiar excitement, the one he reserved for their discussions about humans’ capacity for meaningful discourse and creativity. It was truly amazing, the love he held for their endeavors and ingenuity. Always seeing the spark of hope, that light amongst the fog. Seeing the good in him, even when Crowley denied it himself. He felt a warmth settle in his chest.

“My dear?”

“Yes angel?”

A soft smile made two pink apples of Aziraphale’s cheeks, his eyes fond. “You’re staring, Crowley.”

This was brought to his attention often, and always with the same half-hearted chiding. There was a time, before, when Crowley would have been embarrassed that his best friend caught his gaze lingering on the delicate planes of his face, the crow’s feet that appeared when he laughed, the way he pursed his lips when lost in thought. He smiled to think of how far they’ve come; that now, curled up together in front of the fireplace in their own little Eden, he could gaze upon one of God’s finest creations and have that same awe reflected back at him.

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

His eyes drifted down his face, settling on his lips. “Well, I watched your lovely mouth form them all. Doesn’t that count for something?” Crowley grinned at Aziraphale’s flustered expression as he returned his reading glasses to his face and deliberately averted his partner’s sultry gaze.

“I was saying,” he smiled wrly, “you would probably really enjoy this writer, Edward Carpenter. His writing is dense, as was typical of this time period, but he was absolutely revolutionary in his ideas about the human experience.”

Crowley quirked a sharp black eyebrow. “Was he now? What kind of human experiences?”

“Oh goodness, let’s see…vegetarianism, socialism, philosophies of all sorts. The Religious Influence of Art. Civilisation: Its Cause and Cure – you’d like that one dear, it converted quite a few learned minds to anarchy.”

Crowley grinned and flashed the devil horns lazily with his right hand.

“And…well. He wrote extensively about human sexual interaction.”

“Ah ha! I knew there was a reason you were so engrossed in that book, you dirty hedonist.”

“Oh hush. Really though, can you imagine? In the late 1800s, this man was fighting for gay rights! Openly living with his partner and publishing works that advocated for the purity of love between two people, regardless of their gender. It’s truly remarkable.”

“Absolutely. Never heard of the guy, but good on him.” _And here we are, bringing up the late 1800s, and not one of us even flinched._ Crowley smiled to himself as he snuggled down into the angel’s shoulder, his hand drifting back over his unnecessarily beating heart. “Humans have fought so hard to love one another. Almost as hard as they’ve fought to destroy each other.”

“Mm, that’s true, isn’t it?”

“I can’t imagine…never mind.”

“Can’t imagine what, dear?”

“I was going to say, I can’t imagine having to hide my affections for someone I loved my entire life for fear of the consequences. But…well, I suppose we do know exactly what that’s like, don’t we?” He felt the gentle weight of Aziraphale’s head against his temple and chuckled darkly. “I mean, technically I know what it’s like to hide that for multiple lifetimes, but hey, who’s counting.”

“Oh, Crowley, I know. That must have been -”

Crowley gently slapped Aziraphale’s chest. “No no, don’t start, I’m not trying to open that can of worms, we’ve been there done that, angel. It’s just weird to think about what a human journey this was. How human _our_ journey was.”

Aziraphale sighed deeply. Crowley felt his warm breath on the bridge of his nose. “It was, wasn’t it?”

And as he was likely reminiscing about the innocent parts of their evolving relationship over the last year – the sunset picnics, holding hands while they walked through the park, Crowley bringing him the first flowers that bloomed in their garden – his partner’s train of thought went in a decidedly more intimate direction. Crowley was thankful that no one could see the heat rising to his face as his mind looped over other moments when Aziraphale’s breath had cascaded hotly against his face. From beneath him, as he threw his head back into a pillow, his mouth open in abandon, those soft pale eyelashes resting on his cheeks. From above him, while his hand gripped the headboard and Crowley gripped his backside, Aziraphale greedily cataloguing every one of his passionately overwhelmed expressions. Into his right ear, a whispered string of praises like a rosary, a gentle hand holding his throat and the other firmly on his hip –

Crowley inhaled deeply through his nose and tried to calm his heartbeat. “Will you read it to me?”

“Oh…I’d love to,” Aziraphale said with a soft fondness as he found his place on the yellowed page.

_“While the glory of sex pervades and suffuses all Nature; while the flowers are rayed and starred out towards the sun in the very ecstasy of generation; while the nostrils of the animals dilate, and their forms become instinct, under the passion, with a proud and fiery beauty…”_

Crowley’s long fingernail began a swirling pattern over Aziraphale’s heart. His eyes lowered to his neck, exposed tonight as a rare treat. He felt his fangs elongate slightly as his eyes found the exact point where he could taste his love’s pulse beneath his skin. But like every great hunter, he waited patiently.

_“…while even the human lover is transformed, and in the great splendors of the mountains and the sky perceives something to which he had not the key before – yet it is curious that just here, in Man, we find the magic wand of Nature suddenly broken, and doubt and conflict and division entering in, where a kind of unconscious harmony had erst prevailed.”_

He felt Aziraphale shift slightly, but his eyes stayed on the text. Crowley’s nose brushed his neck, his left arm snaking behind his shoulder so that he could bend his hand backwards. First, he removed those ridiculous and adorable glasses from his face. Fingers then, gently, worked their way into Aziraphale’s soft curls. The fingertips of his right hand continued their spiral trail across his chest, and as a suddenly intrigued angel thought of how to respond to this sudden situation, the smiling lips against his ear gave a soft inquiry.

“Are you comfortable, love?”

Crowley grinned at Aziraphale’s surprised expression. The L word. What a rare treat that was, indeed.

“Yes…yes, thank you.” “Why did you stop?” Aziraphale swallowed. “Would you…like me to continue?”

“Oh yes, angel. I’m intrigued.”

Crowley scratched his scalp slowly, in that gentle way he knew he loved, and felt the goosebumps rise on his partner’s neck. Aziraphale nostrils flared as he scanned the paragraph.

 _“…The man who loves unsuccessfully knows himself to be a god. It is not perhaps till the great current of sexual love is checked and brought into conflict with the other parts of his being that the whole nature of the man, sexual and moral, under –“_ He took a sharp breath as he felt lips mouth his neck, a gentle sucking and teasing of his skin, followed by the small pressure of teeth. The lazy message across his chest continued unhurriedly, keeping the same slow pace. Crowley felt a small heat begin to pool in his belly at the thought. _Nice and easy, angel. No rush. We’ve got time._

To his credit, Aziraphale continued to read.

_“Under…the tremendous stress rises into consciousness and reveals in fire its god-like quality. This is the work of the artificer who makes immortal souls – who out of the natural love evolves even a more perfect love.”_

“Hmm.” Aziraphale’s breathing had quickened. Crowley pulled gently on his neck and let it go from between his teeth, trailing a long black nail across the knitted stiches of his chest. “Interesting. Keep going.”

 _“…It- It is the subject of this conflict, or at least differentiation –“_ A soft sigh from between pink lips. _“…between the sexual and the more purely moral and social instincts in man which interests us here. It is clear, I think, that if sex is to be treated rationally –“_

Drawing back his left hand, Crowley tugged lightly at the loose neck of Aziraphale’s sweater, revealing a trove of soft skin. Golden gaze burning bright with the fire he was kindling, he lightly dragged the flat of his forked tongue across his collarbone. Aziraphale’s eyes closed of their own volition, his grip on the book tightening. Crowley’s hypnotic right hand swirled lower over his lovely soft belly.

 _“If – oh- if sex is to be treated rationally, that is, neither superstitiously on the one hand nor li…licentiously on the other, we must be willing to admit that-“_ He moaned softly as Crowley’s teeth teased his collarbone, his right hand leaving the book to encircle his partner’s face, sink his fingers into sleep tossed hair. _“B-both the satisfaction of the passion and the non-satisfaction of it are desirable and beautiful. They both have their results, and man has to reap the fruits which belong to both experiences.”_

“Mm hmm.”

“Mm hmm what?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly.

Crowley smooched the small plush roll at the base of his neck. “I agree.” Kissed his chin. “About reaping the fruit –“ A kiss to his cheek, just far enough away from his lips. “-which belong to both experiences.” One finger dipped gingerly below the waistband of his pajama bottoms, long nail barely scratching at soft downy hair. He watched Aziraphale’s face as his mouth went slack, his eyebrows knotted in anxious anticipation, eyes squeezed shut.

“Angel?” he breathed.

“Yes?”

“Keep reading.”

As he sunk back down to tease delicately at Aziraphale’s neck, his right hand dipped lower beneath his waistband, tracing lazy, tantalizing circles. He felt his own abdomen wind tighter.

Hot breath danced across Crowley’s neck as Aziraphale brushed his nose against his cheek. _“Lust and Love…are subtly interchangeable. Perhaps the corporeal amatory instinct –“_ His finger inched lower. _“-and the ethereal human yearning for personal -“_ A small whine as Crowley’s fingers found him, wound themselves. Aziraphale’s hand gripped his hair tighter. _”…union...are really and in essence one thing, with diverse forms of mmmanifestation.”_

A breathy moan in his right ear. That slow and lazy pace, torturously sweet, the corporeal amatory instinct becoming an ethereal human yearning. Crowley smiled against his neck, the skin already bruising. “Keep reading, angel.” _I want to unravel you so slowly, you feel every inch._

_“On the other hand – ohh – on the other hand, it must not be p-pretended that the physical…passions are…by their nature abhorrent, or anything but – ah - admirable and desirable-“_

“Mmm.” A slight squeeze.

_“…in their p-place. Any attempt to-to absolutely disown – ohh - or des-despite them, carried out over long p-periods either by…individuals or…or bodies of people…only ends in…"_

“Yesss.”

_“O-only ends in…”_

The sound of the leatherbound book hitting the hardwood floor ricocheted off the walls in the quiet of the living room. Crowley quickly grasped Aziraphale’s empty left hand from over his shoulder, pulling them against one another, nuzzling his cheek. Aziraphale eagerly crashed into his lips, his mouth persistent, his tongue hot and searching. He was pinned against his partner, his control and sense being slowly drawn from him. Crowley’s winding form constricted Aziraphale against his mouth, his eager tongue swallowing his desires and answering with a guttural moan. The smallest quickening of pace and lips had to be parted, to grasp at air, to beg, to praise - _oh yes love, please, yes_ \- and as Aziraphale’s head fell back against the couch, his neck a warm offering, Crowley finally latched onto that delicious pulse point, drinking down every vibration from that perfect mouth.

*****

Heavy eyelids opened lazily. The firelight licked at the shadows on the ceiling, the crackling of the wood distant and muffled. Aziraphale felt his corporeal body slowly, from the tip of his nose, to his fingers, to his wiggling toes. He heard Crowley snap crisply and was grateful for a change of the necessary clothes. His face still felt feverish, his brow slick, but he imagined Crowley left that lingering physical sensation as a parting farewell.

Movement to his right, then two golden eyes peering down at him, a smug smile pulled across those long, sharp features. He closed his eyes with a contented sigh as long fingers pushed damp curls from his forehead…and placed something cool and metal onto his nose.

Aziraphale peeked out through one eye to see his reading glasses perched neatly, once again, on his face.

Straight faced, Crowley informed him, “You dropped these.”

Aziraphale snorted so loudly that he turned bright pink and slapped his hand over his mouth. Crowley threw his head back and barked as the pair of them shook with laughter, their cheeks and necks still flush. Wiping away tears, he bent down to smooch the side of Aziraphale’s grin. “You do know you continued to read perfectly well _after_ I removed these?”

An indignant scoff. “Well, it wasn’t as fun without them.”

“Oh, I think it was. I’m fairly certain that was the most fun you’ve ever had while reading.” Crowley leaned over and picked up the fallen book, scanning the cover. “Definitely the most fun while reading this guy. Thanks, Ed.”

Placing the book on Aziraphale’s chest, Crowley flipped to the bookmarked page, skimming each line with a black nail. Aziraphale smirked at him, poised on his lap, eyes alight with joy and mischievousness. “Ah, here we were."

_"On the other hand it must not be pretended that the physical passions are by their nature abhorrent, or anything but admirable and desirable in their place. Any attempt to absolutely disown or despite them, carried out over long periods either by individuals or bodies of people, only ends in the thinning out of the human nature…”_

Cocking his head to one side, Crowley considered this. “So…he’s saying that, if we deny who we are, or if society oppresses others for who they are, it thins out human nature, so to speak.”

“Yes, I believe that’s what he means.” Aziraphale placed his hands on Crowley’s sharp hips, fondly caressing the soft pajama pants with his thumbs. “Humans are uniquely beautiful because of their differences. Losing that individuality, that pride in oneself, the ability to live openly and truly free as we know ourselves intimately – this only leads us to a devolution of the self as a species.”

“Leads ‘us’? Don’t you mean humans?”

“Oh, well, yes,” Aziraphale chuckled, and then a thought entered his mind that surprised him with its surety and need to be expressed, even though he had known it to be his truth for decades. He dropped his gaze, his expression softening so fondly that Crowley stilled himself and waited.

“Crowley…not loving you would thin out the very nature of me. You make this celestial and earthly life worth living.” He made himself look directly into his partner’s eyes, a shy smile beaming on his lips. “I am so grateful for the love we share.”

Crowley felt his chest tighten as a wide array of emotions cascaded over his face, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Surprise, a kind of lovely excited anxiety, and finally, a rosy-cheeked acceptance. He placed the book behind him and bent over to rest his face on Aziraphale’s chest, knowing he could feel the heat of it through his sweater. He clasped his hands on either side of the angel’s width and squeezed, his eyes closed tightly, feeling waves of a gratitude and love too vast and bright for him to express in words. Aziraphale hugged him back, kissing his hair softly.

After some time of peace and contentment, Crowley sighed.

“Welp, I guess ultimately this answers my initial question that started this whole thing.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale stopped petting his hair. “What was that, dear?”

“I asked if you were finished.”

Crowley barely had time to grin before Aziraphale was shoving him off his lap and he was left howling at the ceiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I was so nervous to write a sexy fic because it meant a lot to me to make the tone "tender and goofy". I had so much fun writing this, it's ridiculous. Thanks so much to @usedtobehmc for hosting this writing contest, and for inspiring us with your soulful storytelling! Please check out her Instagram under the same name. :) 
> 
> Originally, I was going to use a poem by Walt Whitman, but while doing some research I stumbled upon Edward Carpenter. I've never heard of him, but he lived a truly amazing life. These quotes are from his essay, "Sex-love: And Its Place in a Free Society " (1894). To my knowledge, all of the information I included here about him and his work are accurate. You can read more about Edward Carpenter here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Carpenter 
> 
> Please check out the other stories written for this prompt under the contest tag above! Kudos and comments are always appreciated! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)


End file.
